You should have known me then...

Finished reading The Time Traveler's Wife (author: Audrey Niffenegger) this weekend. I started on it kind of slowly, but the more I read the less I wanted to put it down. I suppose it doesn't tackle any themes that haven't been dealt with before, but the way issues of love and loss are approached through the device of Henry the time traveler offers an interesting perspective. Also, there is a lot of Chicago in this book, so anyone who knows the city a little can have fun following the characters around while actually being able to visualize the places mentioned. Rating (using the poker hand scale): straight flush.

My baby done left me

I never knew you could dance to the blues. And then I remembered: you don't play the blues to stay in the emotional gutter of lost love, you play it to cleanse your soul, to vanquish your demons, to reaffirm that you are standing on solid ground in the midst of the storm.
First visit to a blues club in Chicago; what the hell took me so long? Saw Lil' Ed and the Blues Imperials, on an evening with my sister and her friend in town for a long weekend; part of the impetus for all of this was to give her friend a piece of the Chicago experience.
Funny, sometimes, how you can live in or near a place for so long and still miss out on so many things that make it real, make it breathe, and give the city a soul. Now that I have some time on my hands, I think I'll have to do this kind of thing more often. Because whenever you go looking for meaning externally, it is nearly inevitable that you look inward as well.
Anyway, B.L.U.E.S is a hopping little joint; smaller than I expected. The crowd moved in and out like a bell curve, peaking at about 1:00 a.m. We were there early enough to score a good table, and watch for M's friends while taking in the crowd, a lot of whom seemed like regulars given the way they bantered with the staff, performers, and each other. But the atmosphere was friendly; I've been to places like that, where there is a core group and you feel like you are stepping into someone else's territory, where they eye you warily and you start to get a bit self-conscious; what are the rules here, what is the culture? So yeah, it was a good night.

The pain we attach to places

Chicago, by Sufjan Stevens

I fell in love again
All things go, all things go
Drove to Chicago
All things know, all things know
We sold our clothes to the state
I don't mind, I don't mind
I made a lot of mistakes
In my mind, in my mind

You came to take us
All things go, all things go
To recreate us
All things grow, all things grow
We had our minds set
All things know, all things know
You had to find it
All things go, all things go

I drove to New York
In a van, with my friend
We slept in parking lots
I don't mind, I don't mind
I was in love with the place
In my mind, in my mind
I made a lot of mistakes
In my mind, in my mind

If I was crying,
In the van, with my friend
It was for freedom
From myself and from the land
I made a lot of mistakes

Lassie! Bruce fell down the well!

Out with Tom and Mike and Steve to see Batman Begins.
It was detailed. And long. And it was dark, yes, but lacked gravity. It had little touches of humor, as an afterthought. Many good ideas, some of which were played out while others were left to decay. I don't know; an interesting notion, but where do you go with the franchise now?

The Five Stages of Grief

Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance.
What do you mean my favorite sandwich is no longer on the menu?
Why the hell not?
Look, talk to the guy in the kitchen, maybe they can make it anyway?
Damn. That was my favorite sandwich.
Fine, I'll have the Philly instead.

Red Schoolhouse

Photos from the Little Red Schoolhouse nature center.
Series 1
Series 2
Series 3




It's a good place for me to clear my head. Even though it holds certain memories, sometimes revisiting a scene and making it your own again is therapeutic.

Change Forces

All those articles, talk shows, etcetera that talk about what women want in a man, they all leave out one of the most important parts. Sure, you can be sensitive, fatherly, confident, a good listener, and emotionally open; but when you get into a new relationship, you need to figure out if that is what is expected of you. Does she want someone completely different, or does she want to try taking the same guy she's been dating for years and be the one to change him into that ideal man? I mean, look at the bragging rights amongst her friends: "He was okay when I met him, but look at him now. See how much he loves me, see how much I have gotten him to change?" This notion of men as fixers may reflect reality in a physical sense, but in the mental realm it is the women who want to do the fixing. Show up as a polished gem instead of rough quartz, and what she'll see in the reflection is how little work there is to be done, how little she can take credit for. So even if you have those much lauded qualities, they have to be hidden, at least for a while.
Yes, I'm bitter, and this all sounds like absolute shite. I shouldn't base a thesis on one awful experience. But what is a guy to do? You work so hard to reach this popular ideal only to have it thrown back in your face. Give your heart to someone only to see it put in a jar of formaldehyde, placed on the kitchen counter, and be told "Okay, I'm done with you now."

I was stubborn for a long time, and resistant to change. The women in my life have been trying to change me into this person for a long time; it's a bad trade, really, as others have done all the hard work and now someone else will get the benefit of that. I suppose that is how it usually works, though.

Storytime: California Chasm

Tell me a story.

Okay. Northern California coastline. A cliff, about 200 yards above the shore. I am walking along the edge, and there is an outcropping, shaped in such a way that there appears to be a path cut into it. I cannot resist a path. So I walk it, to a section a little higher, like some random boulder just sitting up there. There is a gap, but I can reach across it. The boulder has worn away enough so that I can get a foothold, and I pull myself across the gap and on top of it.
I sit up there for a while, take a few pictures, have a smoke, and just look at the ocean. I wish there was someone there to share it with, but at the same time I am content.
After a while, I am ready to move along. I turn around and look at the path. It seems to have moved away. And now the gap I stepped over a short while ago looks like a chasm into which I am doomed to fall.
I think, maybe I can just jump it. But I worry I'll land wrong and slide off the path, down to the rocks below. I decide to ease myself down backwards and try to step back over. The camera is around my neck, sunglasses in my pocket. As I bend down, the sunglasses slip out, but I am still stretched over the boulder so they don't go far. I snatch them up and put them on; meanwhile, the camera dangles and scrapes against the rock.
I reach a foot out, looking for something solid, and as I am about to start panicking, I find the ground. I shift as much weight as possible to the landed leg and push myself back off of the boulder.
The path is gravelly, and I slip a little, but then regain my footing.
I stand there for a moment, waiting for my breathing to return to normal. Slowly, I walk back to the rented convertible, get in, and turn the key halfway. I dig through my CDs...put in Telepopmusik, start up the car, and I'm gone from that place.